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I couldn't stand here, hanging on, when the very thing I held disappeared more with each passing day.

Becca Fitzpatrick

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Becca Fitzpatrick
Age: 45
Born: 1979
Born: February 3
Author
Novelist
Writer
Centerville
Utah
Held
Passing
Couldn
Stand
Thing
Disappeared
Hanging
Passings

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Let’s be honest, Nora. You’ve got it bad for me. His eyes held a lot of depth. And I’ve got it bad for you.
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Let me show you,” he said in my ear. “Like this. Feel that? Relax. Now pivot your hips—it’s all in the hips.
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I need to brush my teeth. And I need a shower. He grinned, hopping off the bike. Now that is an invitation.
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Vee scowled at him. She is famous for that scowl. It's a look that does everything but audibly hiss.
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Before I could stop myself, I punched his arm. “Careful,” he said in a low voice. “They might think we’re flirting.
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I think I'm more of a guardian angel girl.
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But if the choice I have to make comes down to you or me, I choose you. I always have. All my love, Patch
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Why is Anthony Amowitz using his pimp smile on you?” “You’re only calling him a pimp because he’s here. At Marcie’s.” “Yeah, so?” “He’s being nice.” I elbowed her. “Smile back.” “Being nice? He’s being horny.
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If I had known things would turn out this way, I would have trained harder. I would have learned to take care of myself. But I guess that's the point, isn't it? You never know what you're going to have to face, so you'd better be prepared.
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The only thing a boyfriend was good for was a shattered heart.
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Did you hear something, Nora?” Vee asked. “I thought I heard something.” “You definitely heard something,” I agreed. “Could that be … a dog fart I heard?” Vee asked me.
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I undress to impress - Patch
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Stay with me tonight. Let me hold you even if that's all it is. Let me keep you safe.
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Fine! I'll throw on some clothes. Turn around. I'm in my pj's I'm a guy. That's like asking a kid not to glance at the candy counter.
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Nora: What are you planning? Patch: I wouldn't call this planning. I'd call this throwing a Hail Mary with seconds left on the clock.
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Is that a yes? he asked, pushing his fingers through my hair, fanning it out around my shoulders and searching my face intently. Please let it be yes, he said with a gravelly edge. Stay with me tonight. Let me hold you, even if that's all it is. Let me keep you safe.
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You can call me Patch. No really. Call me.
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You're mine, Angel. And I'm yours. Nothing can change that.
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I looked to the window. Patch was gone, but a single black feather was pressed to the outer pane, held in place by last night's rain. Or Angel Magic
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Your past wouldn’t frighten me,” I said, buckling my seat belt across my lap. “I’m guessing I’d be more appalled than anything.
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